


Waking is worse than the Nightmare

by 221B_Marauder



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationship, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmare, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:18:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221B_Marauder/pseuds/221B_Marauder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John always takes care to fall asleep in his own bed, never on the couch or in his chair. One evening, exhausted, he breaks this rule and dozes off, and has a nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking is worse than the Nightmare

He kicks out wildly. Pushing his young attacker and rolling with him, falling unexpectedly as they grapple against the burning dirt trying to pin the other first. 

Terror is the only thing keeping him going. He’s exhausted, but this is one last thing he needs to do.

Grunting as his attacker’s elbow jabs against his chest - they roll over once more with John managing the higher position. He doesn’t expect legs wrapping around his waist and chest somehow, holding tightly and restricting his breathing.

It feels as if his rib cage is about to snap underneath the pressure and he accidentally lets the air whoosh out of his lungs as he tries to pant to get his attacker to stop. 

His hands are gripped tightly in the attacker’s hair. Longer than he expected, it flows through his fingers as he yanks it back tightly, pressing the topmost part of the skull as close to the dirt to expose the vulnerable throat. He briefly wishes the skull would give or preferably the neck to snap with the pressure he’s putting to help him on.

The lack of air - he can’t breathe - is causing him to panic. Causing him to twist and struggle and try to get out of reach because he needs to breathe. 

He can’t breathe!

Shouting, he knees and pushes up, throwing himself backwards and to the side to dislodge his attacker with a new wave of adrenaline. 

Grunting in pain, his shoulder – there’s something wrong with his shoulder, he finds his own space. 

But the bastard is still coming at him. Both trying to get at him and scramble away and John knows he needs to come back first or he wasn’t going to be the one to make it out.

Taking a few deep breaths to stop his head from swimming he scrambles towards his attacker, pinning him easily. He’s not fighting anymore. 

Why isn’t he fighting?

He hears shouting, his attacker is shouting at him. And there are hands pushing at him, trying to push him off. But one of those hands pushes a little too hard on his left shoulder and he knows for sure now that something has gone wrong with his shoulder because it shouldn’t hurt this much.

He doesn’t understand what the man is saying. He doesn’t understand his language. He only understands that if he’s to come out of this alive, he needs to be willing to do whatever he can. 

Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, it’s almost unbearable now, he twists his hip and swings his arm, easily dislodging his attacker’s hand from his shoulder and using that force to propel his elbow down, catching the fucker in the jaw before bringing his other hand up in the upswing, using the palm of his opposite hand to lash at his attacker’s face causing the head to swing in the opposite direction moments after the first and surely causing whiplash.

He hears the thud of his elbow coming into contact with the man’s jaw and the dull sound of his palm meeting bone and flesh before the resounding thud of the man’s head hitting back against the ground. The attacker must lose consciousness for a moment because he goes limp for a few seconds, allowing John to catch his breath again.

As his attacker starts stirring feebly, John knows he needs to make a decision. 

His right hand wraps around his attacker’s throat as his left scrambles for his gun. 

The attacker stirs more and he’s gasping something at John. John can’t let him speak. He squeezes tighter, his fingertips digging into the yielding flesh. 

He still can’t find his gun, so he gives up on the search and brings his left hand up to the man to squeeze even tighter. 

The attacker is buckling underneath him, trying to push John off. But John has the perfect position. He has balance and two hands on the bastards’ throat and he squeezes even tighter as hands and nails are scrabbling and clawing at his, but John can see himself getting out of this and it’s only helping him do what he is about to do. 

Something vibrates in his pocket and the unsuspecting jolt of it causes him to jump and blink.

Confused in an instant, his body aches and he looks down at whatever is still currently hurting his hands. 

His heart leaps into his throat and he’s pulling his hands back, throwing himself off of Sherlock. 

What had he done? Oh god.

Ignoring his own pain and trying to push his feelings away and blink out his nightmare, he inches towards Sherlock who had twisted away from him and onto his side coughing uncontrollably before falling into a tight ball the moment John had let go, he’s alright. 

He has to be alright. 

Bringing a trembling hand to rest on Sherlock’s shoulder, he expects Sherlock to react like anyone else would. To either flinch, or throw his hand off, or attack him in return and be utterly justified. 

Instead Sherlock turns onto his back at John’s touch, his hands on his throat as he gasps for air and John brings trembling hands to pull away Sherlock’s hold on himself gently. 

He examines the damage as efficiently as he can. 

Bruising and it will be tender for a long time, they'll need to take precautions but the damage doesn’t look too serious, he begs silently it isn't, no matter how painful it actually is. 

Though anyone would be able to tell what had happened if they just looked. 

His eyes sting and he blinks several times as he watches Sherlock melt into the ground as he continues gasping for air.

“John” His name comes out of the ruined voice. 

And John doesn’t feel worthy. He isn’t worthy. For doing this, not being able to control it. Not being able to tell nightmare from reality. He’s a mess. 

Tipping over and resting his head on Sherlock’s hip, he mutters apologies and promises. 

Sherlock’s hand rests on the top of his head and he can no longer stop the tears from slipping. Only able to choke out a few strangled words at Sherlock in apology before another horrifying thought consumes him, “Thank god I didn’t have my gun oh thank god I didn’t have my gun” he repeats over and over barely above a whisper.

His mind is still cycling what he had relived in his sleep. Over and over the images flash between the past and what he had done moments before. Fiercely thankful that he didn’t have his gun on him unlike when he had actually been attacked years ago. 

Sherlock is trying to talk to him, to get him to listen. But he can only focus on the ruined voice and can only cringe away from the touches of comfort he doesn’t deserve but desperately craves. 

“It’s okay John. It’s okay. I’m fine.” Sherlock is rasping at him. 

It’s not. It’s really not.

**Author's Note:**

> [A Sherlock BBC Kink Meme Fill](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/19743.html?thread=120215071#t120215071)
> 
> This prompt was something I felt I had to fill. If you know someone with PTSD I hope I did not offend you or them by writing this.
> 
>  **Edit:** Prompter has expressed interest in writing a follow-up, you can keep up with any fic news and updates through tumblr [here](http://221bmarauder.tumblr.com/).
> 
>  **Edit 2:** Prompter, Cactus Wren, has written the follow-up. You can read Part 1 [here](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/19743.html?thread=120399903#t120399903), and Part 2 [here](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/19743.html?thread=120400415#t120400415). If anyone is worried that it won't fit with this, you'll very likely change your mind.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [On the staircase](https://archiveofourown.org/works/552470) by [CactusWren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CactusWren/pseuds/CactusWren)




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